“That’s why you don’t have a strong Newcastle accent,” Sarah said as she joined her employer on the pavement. “Compared to Harriet and . . .” she almost said “and David McGuire” but stopped herself. She thought it might look as though she had boys on her mind instead of work, “and some of the customers.”
Lucy gave a wry smile. “We weren’t encouraged to have any kind of local accent in school – we all had to speak with the same received pronunciation. It made it a rather hard for me to mix with the local children when I came back home to Newcastle at the holidays.”
Sarah didn’t know exactly what “received pronunciation” meant, but she guessed that it explained her employer’s careful but clear way of talking.
Lucy got out her keys and, opening the front door, ushered Sarah in.
Sarah caught her breath as they walked into the hallway, and when she followed Lucy into a large sitting-room she realised she had been expecting the same mess she first encountered in the shop. Instead, she found the opposite. A wine leather chesterfield sofa and matching deep-buttoned chairs were placed around a leather-topped coffee table with carved legs, holding a large crystal vase. The white marble fireplace had a gold carriage clock on top with matching Chinese vases on either side. There was another larger, tooled-leather-topped desk at the window. On top of it were about a dozen silver-framed family photographs. The wall opposite the fireplace held a bookcase with five doors in leaded glass. Each shelf was filled with books, all organised in matching jackets or size. Lucy Harrison obviously read at home as well as at work.
“This is a lovely room,” Sarah said. “In fact it’s a beautiful house altogether.”
“Thank you. It’s a bit big for one person, but I’m used to it. I don’t know if Miss Reynolds told you, but my father hasn’t been too well for some time and is in full-time residential care now.”
Sarah vaguely remembered the teacher saying something about it, but so much had been going on when she was leaving that she didn’t take it in. “That must be hard.”
“I manage,” Lucy said briskly, “I have a woman who comes in to clean every Friday, and it keeps things in order.”
They went into the big airy kitchen and Lucy put a pan of milk on a ring of the gas cooker and then put a spoonful of Camp coffee into two mugs with two spoonfuls of sugar. When the milk was nearly boiled she poured it into the mugs, stirring quickly until there was a white froth on the top, and then she brought out some chocolate biscuits and a tin of Walker’s shortbread.
Sarah took the mug of coffee, hoping that she would like it. She had only tried it a few times and couldn’t imagine how people would prefer it to tea.
Lucy studied her for a few moments. “Are you finding things very different here from Ireland?”
“A little . . . I think it’s because I’m used to living in the country. I would be the very same if I had moved to Dublin. In some ways I like the difference.” Sarah sipped the coffee, and was surprised at how lovely and comforting it tasted.
“And how are you finding the other girls at the house?” Lucy held out the biscuits and Sarah took a piece of shortbread.
“They’ve been very welcoming – all very friendly.”
After they had finished their coffee, Sarah followed her employer upstairs to get the table for sewing. When she saw the little polished, drop-leaf table she immediately said, “I can’t take that! It’s much too good.”
“I don’t need it. I have a table in each of the bedrooms and that particular one was actually in the way.”
“Well, if you’re sure. I’ll take great care of it.”
“There’s some spare felt in the shop that you can have. If you put it over the table then it won’t mark it.”
As they carried the table down the stairs between them, Sarah thought back to when she had first met Lucy Harrison only a day and a half ago. The difference between how her employer seemed then and now was unimaginable. She was cheerier and more relaxed this evening, and her kindness was more in keeping with that of a friend than a boss. But then, Sarah thought, maybe there was a difference in the way she was looking at things herself.
* * *
They got the table upstairs in Victoria Place and, after Sarah saw her employer off, she went back to set up her new sewing machine. She put a towel under the machine to avoid marking the table and then had a good look at it. It had been left in good condition with the sewing box full of needles and threads, and when she plugged it in, it worked exactly as it should. She would be ready to start on alterations from tomorrow.
She sat in the old blue velvet armchair and knitted for an hour or so and then she looked over at the window and realised it was dark outside. She was closing the curtains when she remembered the house across the road and the ambulance from that morning. She paused to notice there were no lights on and wondered if they were all visiting whoever was sick at the hospital. Then she thought how long ago it seemed since she had last looked down on the street. The day had gone well and she had learned more and done more than she had envisaged.
She went downstairs and chatted to the three girls while the kettle boiled and a slice of bread toasted under the grill. She checked about the water for having a bath and was advised to put the immersion heater on for an hour. As she buttered the toast, she decided she would take the tea and toast back up to her room. It would be easy to sit at the kitchen table with them and drink her tea and join in with their chat, but she somehow felt it was too soon. There was also the chance that the conversation might turn to something personal she didn’t want to talk about.
She went back to her room and finished off the second glove for the shop window and knitted a small child’s hat. After that, she put her blonde hair in a thick plait and pinned it on top of her head. She then she went down for her bath.
She noticed some of the girls had a bottle of bubble bath and some nice shampoo, so she made a mental note to buy some when she was next shopping. She only washed her hair once or twice a week at most as it took so long to dry.
After her bath she got into bed and had a look at the book on crocheting. Within five minutes she was fast asleep and dreaming she was walking into the church in Tullamore on the arm of Con Tierney.
Chapter 14
She slept soundly and didn’t wake until her alarm went off at quarter to eight. She lay for a while then got up and went over to the window. It was dry and bright with a clear sky. There was a milk float out in the street this morning, so she stood and watched the milkman move the vehicle every three or four gates. Then she saw the door of the house open and the dark-skinned teenage girl came out in her dressing-gown and lifted the two pints of milk from the step and go back in. Everything looked more ordinary than the day before. Then a young boy came along on a bicycle with a newspaper satchel over his shoulder, stopping at most of the houses to push a paper or a magazine through the letterbox.
She went downstairs and, as she washed and brushed her teeth, she thought that having milkmen and paperboys calling at your house was a good way to start the day off. Back home there were no deliveries; milk came from your own or your neighbour’s cows or was bought in the shop along with your newspaper.
She stood in front of the wide walnut wardrobe for a few minutes deliberating what to wear, eventually deciding on a green short-sleeved linen dress with a wide, buttoned collar and a flared matching jacket. The weather was reasonable for the end of September, so if it got warm in the shop she could always take the jacket off.
It was an outfit she had made for a First Communion two years ago, and had kept for special occasions or for Mass on a Sunday. She had made several outfits like this and thought she should get the wear out of them as they might go out of fashion, and dressing smart gave a good impression for the shop.
She tied her hair up in a long pony-tail, then walked down to the hill to the city centre, feeling much easier than she had the previous morning. She gave herself enough time to stop off at the cathedral for a few minu
tes and arrived at the shop just as Lucy was unlocking the door.
The first customers were the Bradley sisters, each carrying a bag of garments which needed altering. She had to take them through the back-shop to try on several of the garments, which prompted Lucy to say they would organise a proper changing area as soon as they got a quiet spell during the day.
The morning was busier than her first day and by lunchtime she had several other people in with alterations. Sarah noticed that while people were waiting to be served, they passed the time looking through knitting or sewing patterns and often ended up buying them or some other items such as sewing needles or elastic. She didn’t mention this to Lucy as it might sound as though she was suggesting that her alteration service was bringing more custom to the shop, but she knew it had to be the case.
When her lunch break came, she left the shop quickly and without looking across to the bookshop in case she met David McGuire again. Whilst there was a part of her that wouldn’t have minded spending an hour in his light, cheery company, there was a bigger part that was reluctant to give him an opening to be too friendly.
When she got onto Clayton Street she went left instead of crossing the road to the café she had been in the day before, and continued to walk along until she came to Grey’s Monument. She looked at it for a minute or two, reading the inscription on the pedestal which gave historical information about the political career of Charles Earl Grey and said he was ‘an advocate of peace and the fearless and consistent champion of civil and religious liberty’.
She read the inscription a couple of times but it meant little to her, as did the figure of Charles Grey who seemed to be hundreds of feet in the air. She wandered onto Northumberland Street and there she found a large, impressive department store – Fenwick’s.
As she walked through the ground floor, Sarah quickly realised that this was a more expensive store than she was used to. But as she glanced around at the other women, she could see that she was as well-dressed as any of them. She browsed around the perfume department and sprayed a little on her wrist. She might treat herself to a bottle when she had received a few pay packets and could work out where she was up to financially. She knew she had the money that James had given her plus her own savings, but she intended to put that into a post-office savings account for emergencies. She would start off working on her wages and stick to that.
There was a directory of all the different departments by the staircase so she went over to study it. The word ‘Haberdashery’ caught her eye, so she checked which floor it was on and headed for it.
Within a few minutes of browsing around the department, looking at patterns and feeling the weight and drape of the more unusual materials, Sarah knew that Fenwick’s department store was catering to a very different type of customer to Harrison’s. The people who came in here had a lot more money to spend, and could afford to pay for expensive materials and for alterations to new clothes. When one of the shop assistants came over to see if she needed help, Sarah discovered that they actually had a tailoring department where outfits were made to measure.
“We make every kind of outfits in the store,” the young assistant told her. “People travel from all over to have things made for weddings and special occasions. We’ve even made dresses for famous film stars. A few years ago we had Anna Neagle getting fitted for a whole load of dresses for a film she was in. We had pictures of the dresses on display at the time, so people could see.”
Sarah shook her head in wonder, although she did not admit that she wasn’t exactly sure if she knew who Anna Neagle was.
“You’re Irish, aren’t you?” the girl said now. “My granny is from Ireland.”
Sarah felt her body stiffen.
“She’s from County Kerry.”
Sarah’s shoulders relaxed. Kerry was fine. It was a long way from Tullamore and no one was likely to have heard of her or Con Tierney. “I come from the Midlands,” she told the girl, “but the town is so small you won’t have heard of it.”
As she walked away, Sarah suddenly felt silly for caring so much whether people knew Tullamore or not. If she stayed in Newcastle, the time would probably come where she would meet someone who might know her background, and she would just have to deal with it. Most people had things about themselves or their families they didn’t want to talk about, and she would try to remind herself of that.
Fenwick’s haberdashery had a much greater range of patterns than their own shop, so Sarah had a look through the patterns for soft toys and bought a bunch of them for a rag doll and some for a teddy bear, and while the assistant was wrapping them up and sorting out her change, Sarah noted down a few pattern makes and numbers to suggest them to her employer when the time was right.
When she left the store, Sarah walked around the outside of it, looking in at the window displays. Again, she picked up a few ideas that would help to improve both the interior and exterior of Harrison’s shop.
* * *
There was a slump in business around four o’clock and Lucy suggested that they have a look at the space in the back of the shop for fitting clothes.
“I don’t want to take too much space away from your sewing area, but I definitely think we need to have a little area where people can try on the clothes that need altering.” She gave a little sigh. “Some day I’ll get around to sorting out the rooms upstairs, but there’s so much to be done there that at the moment I can’t face it.”
A short while later Sarah was on the old treadle machine running up a pink rose-patterned curtain for the small changing-room they had fashioned in a corner. Lucy phoned a shop that had a long mirror on a stand, and they said that if she could wait until their own shop closed at half past five, then they would bring it down to Harrison’s in the delivery van. Lucy then went down to a hardware shop to buy a few yards of curtain wire and some hooks for customers to hang their clothes on.
An old painted wooden chair was washed down and looked presentable with a flowery cushion which Sarah ran up on the machine with the leftover material. By the time they closed the door on Tuesday evening, the changing room was ready.
* * *
On Wednesday morning – a half-day in the shop along with Saturday – Harriet Scott called in at the shop again. She was her normal chatty self when all three were in the kitchen, but when Lucy went out to the rear of the shop to answer the phone at one point, she had whispered to Sarah, “What on earth have you done to the place? The window, the inside of the shop – everything. It’s like a different place.”
“Do you think it looks better?”
“Of course I do!” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “I love all the knitted things you have in the window. Did you do them yourself?”
Sarah nodded. “They’re easy – they’re only children’s patterns.”
“Do you sell them in the shop? I’ve a niece who’s just started learning to knit at school. I bet she would love them.”
“Have a look in the pattern book on the counter,” Sarah told her. “The children’s patterns are all at the back.”
“I’ll do that on my way out.”
The shop bell rang and Sarah automatically got to her feet.
Harriet took a last mouthful of her tea and put her nurse’s cap on. “I’d better get moving too.”
When Sarah walked into the shop David McGuire was standing at the counter. “I got a second-hand book in on embroidery I thought you might fancy.” He handed her the book. “It’s only a tanner. No problem if you don’t want it, like.”
“Oh, thanks, that was good of you.” Sarah looked at the cover and then turned the hard-backed book over to read the back.
“Good morning, Mr McGuire.” Harriet’s voice was light and warm.
“Ah, our friendly neighbourhood nurse!” He smiled at her. “Most people have the decency to wait until halfway through the day before having a skive off work. No wonder the National Health is in the state it is.”
“You cheeky devil!” Sh
e laughed. “I don’t start my rounds for another ten minutes. This very short stop-off is during my own time.”
“Ah well,” he said, shrugging. “That’s what they all say.”
Harriet tilted her head to the side. “Are you going to the dance in the town hall on Saturday?”
He shifted his gaze to the floor. “Not sure . . . I haven’t really thought that far yet.”
“You’ll disappoint a few if you’re not there.” Harriet looked over at Sarah. “You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but he’s a great dancer.”
David looked at Sarah now. “Why don’t you come? It would be a good chance to get to know more people.”
Sarah looked up from the embroidery book and caught the dark shadow that crossed the nurse’s face. Immediately she knew that the attention David McGuire was giving her wasn’t being received well.
“I don’t think so,” she said, “I’ve got a lot to do over the weekend, and dancing is the last thing on my mind.”
“Ah, don’t be such a stick-in-the mud!” he said. He looked at Harriet. “Tell her, that she needs to get out and about or she’ll never meet people.”
“No.” Sarah’s tone was definite. She had no intention of getting on the wrong side of the friendly nurse. If she did, she might not only alienate Harriet but Lucy Harrison as well. Besides, she didn’t want to encourage any further interest from the bookshop manager. “I’ve no notion of going to a dance this weekend. I’ve loads of sewing to keep me busy.”
He winked at her. “You could maybe meet the man of your dreams.”
Sarah knew she had to nail the situation down, even if it meant some embarrassment for her. “As I already told Harriet, I had enough of men back in Ireland, thank you,” she said. “And the last thing I’m looking for is the man of my dreams.”
Sarah Love Page 12
